Saturday, 12 March 2016

Thoughts, please

If anyone reading this post has the time, please would you let me have your thoughts? This is the opening chapter of a novel I'm writing, and have almost finished. Would you want to read on, or would you just leave it? Honest anwers. please! And if you do reply, thank you.

PROLOGUE

JULY
1965

HOLIDAY TRAGEDY

A
family was struck by tragedy when their young son drowned while on
holiday. Two-year-old Caspar Lewis fell into a lake in full view of
his ten-year-old sister, Isabel. He was rushed to hospital, but was
pronounced dead on arrival. Local police said that the death appeared
to be a tragic accident. Last night, his parents, Michael and
Barbara, were being comforted by relatives.

It had been so
easy to drown Caspar.

She
hadn't planned it, for she could never have known that her parents
would leave her to “keep an eye on him” for a few minutes. And
in any case, drowning wouldn’t have been her preferred method of
disposing of her little brother. She had dreamed of strangling him,
of placing a pillow over his sleeping face and sitting on it, of
perhaps pushing him down the stairs. But drowning had never occurred
to her. In any case, until now, she had never really intended to put
any of her ideas into practice.

But
then suddenly, there it was. The perfect opportunity. She and Caspar,
alone on the jetty, watching the boats

'Look,
Casp! Look! Fish!”

And
he had leaned over, squatting in his pale blue dungarees, his bobbing
blond curls (oh, how she had hated those curls!) reflected in the
pale surface of the lake.

Such
a little push; such a small splash. And he was gone. There was no
fuss, no scream, no bobbing back to the surface, no sign of any
struggle (afterwards, they had said that his body had become caught
in reeds); just a single starfish hand, raised as though in
valediction before disappearing altogether in the murky depths of the
lake. Caspar's small, perfect life had ended in a small, perfect
death. Neat. Unobtrusive. Almost apologetic.

She
had waited a few minutes, just to be sure, and then she had run
screaming back up the bank.

'Quick!
Come quick! Caspar's fallen in the lake!'

It
was as simple as that.

Her
parents had blamed themselves . They shouldn't have left the two of
them together; it hadn't been fair. She was too young to be
responsible for so young a child. What could they have been thinking
of! Poor Isabel. Poor little Bel. She would carry that terrible
memory with her for the rest of her life. They must be strong. They
must keep going. For Isabel.

After
a while, it was easy to imagine that it really had been an accident;
that it had had nothing to do with her at all. Caspar had stumbled
and fallen; it had been nobody’s fault. And her guilt had sunk,
like Caspar's tiny body, and been submerged in the soothing waters
of the myth which had been woven around it.

Why
had she hated him so much? She had begged and pleaded for a baby
brother or sister, perhaps safe in the certainty that none would be
forthcoming, but when he had finally arrived, she had been
overwhelmed with jealousy. She grew to hate her perfect little
brother with his perfect manners, his blue eyes, his seraphic smile,
and those blond curls, Wherever they went, Caspar had turned heads
and attracted compliments. He was a clever, child, too. He knew all
his colours and could count up to fifty, while in those days, Isabel
had struggled at school. He even had more names than she did. Caspar
Llewellyn St.John Lewis. That was a name that was going places.
Whereas she, plain Isabel Mary, wasn't going anywhere.

Once,
she had asked why Caspar had been blessed with all those names, and
been told that her mother had “had everything taken away” after
his birth, and there would be no more babies. So it seemed that all
the names that might have been given to future brothers had been
lavished upon Caspar, so that none should be wasted. She had never
asked about girls' names. She couldn’t imagine that her parents
would ever have wanted another girl.

And
so the memory of that afternoon had become clouded, and had finally
disappeared. If she thought of it at all (and she tried not to), she
had a vague recollection of Caspar running off, of herself shouting
after him, getting to the jetty too late to save him. In her own
mind, she became as much of a victim as Caspar himself; the older
sister who had been the luckless witness, unable to reach her little
brother in time. The coroner's verdict had been “accidental
death”, so that was what it had been. A tragic accident. It had had
nothing to do with Isabel at all.

She
wasn't to know that one day - one far-off day - she would be tempted
to kill again.

My first thought was of The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks. This lacks the black humour and improbability of flying someone over the sea attached to a kite so I read this again.Not the same at all. I will read on as soon as I'm given the words. Good luck. When you sell the film rights could you stipulate that Uma Thurman gets a major part please.

I agree with Patsy, didn't like the first paragraph which I assume is meant to be a newspaper report. I think it is unnecessary, 'It had been easy so to drown Caspar' is a much more gripping opening line. Yes, really like it.

Agree with Patsy. I don't have a problem with prologues - some of the best novels have them - but didn't think that first paragraph was necessary. The rest of it definitely made me want to read on (and so excited you're writing a new novel to add to my collection!)

France's, I'm trying to send you my comment from my iPhone, and so far I have had two unsuccessful attempts. This is my third and final try.

I agree with the others about deleting the newspaper article prologue, or possibly you could move it somewhere else in the middle of your book as a short chapter by itself. I say that because I think this whole chapter, starting with "It had been so easy to drown Caspar" and ending with "It had had nothing at all to do with Isabel" (that is, minus your final sentence) might make a great final chapter or epilogue. It reminded me of Tony Perkins's line at the end of the Psycho film, "I wouldn't even harm a fly."

Thank you for all (3) of your efforts! Helpful comments. However, I can't put that at the end because by then she will have bumped off rather a lot of people. I'm trying to finish off the final victims now. Wish me luck!

I would definitely want to read the book. I also agree that binning the prologue is the right thing to do, though I wouldn't have thought of that on my own. I am not very good at discussing books at book club, I just know if I have enjoyed it or not!

"Nobody expected Ernest to die. Least of all Ernest." Words embedded permanently in my mind. "It had been so easy to drown Caspar." says so much. The first paragraph in your prologue will never grab anyone to the same extent (in my opinion). I have joined the majority (if rather late).

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Frances Garrood

About Me

I live with my husband in Devizes in Wiltshire where I spend my time writing, reading, riding (I am the lucky owner of a beautiful horse, Blue), and keeping up with my four children and an increasing number of small grandchildren (eight so far). I was for many years a nurse and a Relate counsellor. I have taught creative writing both at a local college and a prison, and I review a wide variety of items - including books - for the Amazon Vine programme.I write to death row prisoners in America, being a life-long opponent jof the death penalty. And I spend too much time blogging..